Grant me Your Grace – Chapter 56

Author: Nikss

Clank, creak—

The rusty sound of iron violently echoed through the cave.

As the lead jailer opened the iron bars, the rookie jailer behind him carelessly shoved the staggering Hissin inside.

Hissin, severely injured from brutal torture, rolled across the floor like a lifeless sack. His chest, covered in wounds, heaved with ragged breaths.

“Tsk, disgusting.”

The rookie jailer roughly wiped the blood that had smeared on his face when Hissin’s arm brushed against him.

After licking off the remaining traces with his tongue, he spat at Hissin.

“I don’t know what people saw in a wretch like him to call him a ‘Divine Gift.’ Pft!”

The other jailers burst into mocking laughter.

“If he really was a Divine Gift, the Nuit Goddess would’ve saved him by now. Or struck us down with lightning.”

He tapped the club in his hand against his palm. Dried bloodstains—whose, no one knew—were caked all over it.

The torture in the underground prison had no purpose beyond inflicting pain worse than death—no interrogation, no reason.

Jailers often beat prisoners with their clubs for no cause.

“Hey, you hear? The Emperor ordered relief for the guards injured in the recent fire.”

“Seriously? His Highness the Crown Prince granted them his divine power?”

“That’s right. Just goes to show the Nuite Goddess is on our side. She clearly showed mercy by letting us capture those blasphemous heretics who dared disrespect the divine.”

Another jailer sighed with a displeased expression.

“That’s not it, you idiots. The Chancellor’s bastard got critically injured rushing into the flames to stop the fire from reaching the palace.”

The other two jailers looked puzzled.

“Wasn’t that guy disowned from the Zeta family ages ago? Got cast aside after trading on his father’s name and lived like a dead rat ever since.”

“But he’s still the Chancellor’s only son. And he did stop the fire from spreading—saved the capital, even.”

“Don’t know if this is unfair or just how things should be…”

“The public backlash must be huge. The Emperor made a bold decision.”

“See? Power’s the only thing that matters in the end.”

The guards grumbled as they locked the prison gate and left.

“By the way, that fake ‘Gift of the Gods’—just ten days ago, his body was a complete wreck, but suddenly, he’s completely healed?”

“Was he? I was too busy beating him as soon as he arrived in the torture chamber to notice…”

“Enough useless talk. Let’s hurry and get to the gambling den. They said today’s stakes are huge.”

As the guards’ voices faded, Hissin raised his crimson eyes. Like a wounded beast, they flickered with a mix of fury and bloodlust.

With great effort, Hissin stretched his arm, gripped the iron bars, and pulled himself up. His back, muscles tightly coiled, heaved roughly with each exhale.

In the darkness where the torchlight had vanished, Hissin waited silently.

Finally, when the distant, agonized screams had all died away, and a silence deeper than the abyss numbed all senses—

A sharp disturbance in the air approached him.

It was the Shadow.

“Please take this. It will ease your pain.”

The Shadow held out a small vial, just as before—medicine to suppress the pain. But instead of swallowing it, Hissin muted his voice and commanded:

“Tell the Crown Princess the secret path to this place.”

“Pardon? But…”

“The Princess is wise. She will find her way here swiftly.”

The Shadow couldn’t hide their unease. The underground prison’s hidden passage was a secret known only to them—not even the most seasoned guards were aware of it.

It was a path they had stumbled upon by chance, an uncharted tunnel among the prison’s unused caves.

If discovered, Hissin would lose his only escape route, and all their carefully laid plans would crumble.

And now, he wanted to reveal it to none other than the Crown Princess?

Though the Shadow had always obeyed Hissin’s orders without question, this time, they hesitated.

“It’s too dangerous. We still need more preparation for the ‘plan.’ If anything goes wrong—”

“If we lose the Princess, there is no plan.”

Hissin cut them off. His eyes, burning like flames in the dark, were unyielding—no protest would sway him.

Cautiously, the Shadow asked, “May I… ask why?”

Hissin lifted his head and silently gazed into the darkness. Within his crimson eyes, an ancient longing lay heavily settled.

“At the very least, I should leave behind one last hope to cling to.”

A single desire he had envisioned for so long, one he had devoted his life to obtaining.

“Only then will I be able to hold onto my breath.”

The depth of it was enough to make any onlooker feel desperate. The shadow that witnessed it had no choice but to bow its head.

“…I will report back within a few days.”

“The sooner, the better. The day the Princess will need me is fast approaching.”

The shadow hesitated, as if about to ask something more, but soon closed its mouth. With a quiet bow, it disappeared back into the darkness.

Hissin continued to stare deeply into the abyss.

He would wait until the Princess fell into wretched ruin. Until even the basest salvation became something she desperately craved.

Until, at the edge of despair, she realized that the only hope left to her was him.

‘Only then will she no longer dare to think of escaping me.’

Exhaling a weary breath, Hissin sank back into the enduring passage of time.

✨

Despite the Empire’s citizens’ protests, the Emperor permitted the guards to administer the Crown Prince’s divine blood.

The justification was his merit in protecting the imperial palace from the fire and maintaining the capital’s security.

The first to receive the sacred blood was Zeta Malak, the illegitimate son of Chancellor Zeta Mindhu.

Malak, who had blocked the flames heading toward the imperial palace with his own body, suffered severe burns from head to toe.

But the moment Saltar poured the blood from the vial, his wounds healed as if washed away.

Malak’s sacrifice had been solely to protect gambling funds and illegal contracts. Unaware of this, Khankundra praised the loyal servant’s son and ordered that the bastard child be recognized as a legitimate heir.

The divine blood was then bestowed upon the others who had helped block the flames.

And the price of that blood fell squarely upon Dahlia.

“Hah… Ah, ahh…”

Dahlia twisted her body, trying to escape the pain coursing through her entire being.

But even the softest bed sheets, gentler than a young bird’s feathers, now felt like thousands of hooks against her skin. The very air touching her was agony, and Dahlia repeatedly lost consciousness, only to wake again.

Outside the door, Bertha, who had been pacing, choked back another sob upon hearing the terrible moans and asked,

“Your Highness, Your Highness… Are you alright? Should I call the imperial physician now? Or perhaps some sleep herbs—”

“Don’t come in! No one— hurk—no one is to enter this room!”

Dahlia’s scream-like shout kept even Bertha from stepping inside. The red blotches covering her from head to toe made her look like a monstrous creature.

The searing pain, as if her skin were burning away moment by moment, was unbearable beyond words. Dahlia wished she could just die already.

If only her heart would stop before her wounds could heal—then she could die without suffering.

If she could throw herself into a river, if that cool mercy of death could be granted to her… Her flowing tears were so scalding that Dahlia contorted her face in pain.

Even the slightest movement brought waves of agony, as if her breath would stop, leaving her with only the barest motion to keep breathing.

A day passed, and as night fel,l in the illusion that her entire body was oozing,

The tightly shut window seemed to let in a breeze, making the thin curtains sway like moonlight. Dahlia lifted her eyelids and inhaled the desert night air seeping through the darkness.

For the briefest moment, a cool breath lingered in her parched, cracked lungs.

“Is this death…?”

At Dahlia’s question, the night air flowing into the room paused its drift.

Even the crescent moon, drawn by the goddess’s fingernail, had vanished behind the clouds, leaving only impenetrable darkness—yet it brought an inexplicable sense of peace.

Is this how death feels when it descends upon the human world? Cozy, curious, infinitely silent, instilling fear yet ultimately offering eternal tranquility.

“Please… take me swiftly to the side of the goddess Nuit…”

Her lips, having tasted nothing but a few sips of fig tea, were pale as her words trailed off. Even that much exhausted her, and Dahlia gasped for breath before closing her eyes.

The shadow, which had been quietly listening to her breathing, placed a small note into her hand, now covered in red blotches.

Even that faint touch seemed to send a sharp pain through her, as her crimson hand flinched and trembled.

The shadow gazed down at Dahlia intently.

In the depths of despair, where no light can be seen, one clings not to irresponsible words like ‘everything will be fine,’ but rather to the hollow promise that the divine is with them.

Even if such hope is more fragile than a straw, the weak human heart still yearns to grasp it and endure.

Looking at the princess, the shadow felt that very sentiment anew. And so, they offered her a blessing from a god they themselves did not believe in.

“May the Goddess Nuit be with you.”

The faint voice soon vanished into the darkness along with the shadow.

“…”

Once the presence lingering around her disappeared, Dahlia forced her eyes open with great effort.

Had she dozed off for a moment, or had she merely closed and opened her eyes? She couldn’t tell.

Only the quiet surroundings and the dim darkness assured her that night had not yet passed.

Just as the pain began to sharply stir her exhausted senses again, something foreign brushed against Dahlia’s palm.

With great difficulty, she moved her fingers to grasp it.

‘Paper…?’

For a moment, she wondered if she had dreamed it.